


We are not to blame.

by curiumKingyo



Category: 09'Sherlock Holmes
Genre: Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 23:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiumKingyo/pseuds/curiumKingyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes and Watson are in an Opium House and the detective can't keep his eyes off of the doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We are not to blame.

**Author's Note:**

> Written to [my friend Ela.](http://amaraal.livejournal.com/profile)  
> Originally posted on my [Livejournal](http://goldenfish-jz.livejournal.com/5122.html)

It was the first time the smoke burnt his eyes. Maybe it was because he didn't seem able to close them. Even the fastest blink seemed impossible while he was facing Watson's long limbs sprawled across the wine colored velvet divan. The still lightly tanned skin glowing in the yellow candlelight as he breathed in the opium charged air into his lungs staring as the smoke flew around in slow rings.

  
Holmes' throat was dry and rough and it wasn't because of the smoke, it was because of the beautiful play of light and shadow in Watson's glistening skin and the languid way the doctor's lips smiled, his tongue darting out every now and then to wet them. He wanted those lips and that teasing tongue on him, everywhere at once if possible. He could picture it in the swirling clouds of smoke dancing around them. Watson threw his head back, giving a soft laugh as he watched the smoke vanishing into the thick air and Holmes swallowed dryly as the doctor's throat moved with his giggles. He brought his own pipe to his lips, gnawing it in a futile attempt to calm himself down.

  
Watson slowly turned his head watching the deliberate movements of Holmes' hand as he pushed the pipe between his lips. The doctor gave him a lazy smile, his eyes shining and disturbingly unfocused. Holmes was sure they were bluer now than ever, the yellow light catching in the small flecks of silver in the cobalt irises. He could barely imagine what Watson was thinking and it was unsettling, this not knowing what was going behind Watson's lazy smile and blurred eyes. He closed his own eyes, feeling them sting with the long time open in the smoky environment.

  
He heard movement from Watson's side of the room. Opening an eye he saw the doctor stretching over the divan, white shirt half unbuttoned hanging open as the muscles under the shiny skin danced, back arching and abs distending in perfect sync. The detective imagined how that sweaty torso tasted like, and if he could feel all those muscles moving if his hands were clutching Watson's strong body instead of the fragile bamboo pipe. He closed his eye again, feeling the smoke caressing his face as he breathed the intoxicating air.

  
More sounds from Watson alerted him that his companion was standing and giving unstable steps towards him. He silently held the opium up thinking Watson wanted to refill his pipe when he felt a sure hand grab his shoulder. He was about to ask his friend if he was feeling well when the hand pushed him down onto his own divan and before his drugged mind could form a thought he felt a solid weight resting over him.

  
His own eyes were unfocused but he didn't know that and Watson clearly was in no condition to notice even when his face was a mere inch away from Holmes'. The smell of smoke and cologne filled the detective's nostrils as the doctor pressed his full long body against him.

  
'Stop staring at me like this or I'll make something stupid' Watson groaned into the hot air between their too close mouths. Yet, he kept pressing their bodies together, his good leg holding him up as the bad one pressed firmly against Holmes' side. The detective threw his free arm around Watson's waist enjoying the firm muscles under his palm. He sat the pipe aside and crept his hand to the back of the other man's neck.  
  
  
'Any stupidity can be blame on the flowers' Holmes replied pulling Watson impossibly closer and claiming his smoked lips in a kiss both numb and sharp that couldn't really be blamed on anyone but themselves.

 

 


End file.
